


Catching Up

by 221BJen (jcoz1701)



Series: Twelve In Twelve 2016 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, First Time, Insecure Sherlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/pseuds/221BJen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First time awkwardness abounds! Twelve in twelve 2016, here we go!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catching Up

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you always to Callie4180, EnduringChill and gowerstreet for their ever present support and beta prowess! Go read their stuff! Go now!

“Sorry.”

Sherlock’s voice was muffled by the arm thrown over his face. He reached down with his other hand to grope for the sheet to cover himself, ignoring the cooling come spattered on his stomach. 

John lay on his back beside him, jeans open but still firmly in place. He knew that he needed to say something, be reassuring, anything, but he couldn’t think of a thing. “It’s fine.” He winced at the platitude. It fell flat from his lips and he could feel Sherlock drawing away. He rolled onto his side so that he could see him better.

“It’s really not.” Sherlock still sounded muffled but John picked up on the tone of his voice. He needed to cut whatever insane idea running through that great big brain off at the pass or this was going to be bad. He wrapped a hand around a cotton-clad arm and pulled, encouraging Sherlock to unbury his head. He was met with resistance at first but Sherlock finally gave way, allowing John to pull the arm away from his face. He continued to look up at the ceiling, his face carefully blank. 

John knew better. He ran gentle fingers along Sherlock’s forearm until found his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It is.” Sherlock sat up, shirt falling in wings to frame his pale chest. What a pair they made. At least he’d gotten Sherlock’s trousers off. “It’s alright. It happens-”

“If the inane words ‘it happens to everyone’ leave your mouth, I swear I will remove myself from this flat.” Sherlock was stoically not looking at John. “This was a mistake.”

Okay, this was bad and getting worse. John was going to make Sherlock talk this through with him if he had to pin him down. He was fairly confident that he could do it but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He looked at Sherlock’s profile and could see the clenched jaw despite the cool facade. 

John sat up as well. “It most certainly was not.” Sherlock glanced at him but still refused to turn and look. Well, time to take that choice away. John took Sherlock’s chin in his fingers, ready for him to jerk away. He didn’t. John turned him so that he could see his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. The hurt in those pale eyes was heartbreaking. A blink and it was gone. 

The night had started like any other since John had come back to Baker Street. A case. A lead run to ground. A suspect in custody. Post-case famished Sherlock and Angelo’s.

It had been lovely. 

The wine softened Sherlock’s hard edges and John couldn’t remember a more perfect time. Not since before Moriarty and Mary and all of that mess. He had sipped his wine and watched Sherlock in the candlelight and marveled at how someone so steeped in cold logic could be so beautiful at the same time.

The walk back to the flat had bolstered John’s courage and he decided that it was time. It was past time for this thing that had been between them for months to either be put to rest or dragged into the light. He walked into the kitchen, automatically flipping on the kettle, and leaned against the counter to put his words in order.

In the end it didn’t matter. He didn’t even remember what he had said, only the look on Sherlock’s face. Confusion had turned to wariness and that had turned to hope. John had leaned in close, giving the other man more than enough time to stop him, and kissed him. And Sherlock kissed him back.

They had kissed and kissed until it was clear that the sofa was not built to hold two grown men. John had stood and taken Sherlock by the hand to lead him to his own bedroom. John’s jumper and vest had been a casualty of the sofa and he had unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt, admiring how the deep blue framed pale skin. 

They had somehow made it to the bed but not before John had divested Sherlock of his trousers and socks. He had crawled his way up Sherlock’s body, placing kisses here and there, and had just hooked fingers under the waistband of the charcoal boxer briefs when things started to go awry. 

“Is this alright?” He could see the look of intense concentration on Sherlock’s face but had received a nod of agreement. He had lifted and pulled Sherlock’s pants down, freeing his cock, when it happened. He had just enough time to run his index finger down Sherlock’s length when he heard a startled “Oh!” and Sherlock was coming. 

And so here they were. John trying to figure out how to comfort his best friend or lover or both and tell him that it was perfectly alright that he came as soon as he breathed on him as he watched Sherlock spiral into panic and despair.

“I’m afraid that you will be disappointed if we continue with this, this,” Sherlock waved a hand encompassing both of them. “We can go back to the way things were. There’s no reason for you to-” He cut himself off with a snap. 

“No reason for me to what, Sherlock?” John thought he knew what the rest of that statement was going to be but he had to make Sherlock say it so that he could tell him how idiotic it was.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and kept his eyes turned away and fixed on the wall. “No reason for you to- to leave.” His shoulders slumped. “I’ve ruined this. I’m sorry, John.”

John stared at him. How on earth could someone so unbelievably smart be so bloody stupid? He did the only thing that he could do. He leaned over until shoulders bumped and said directly into Sherlock’s ear, “You’re an idiot.”

Sherlock jerked in surprise and finally,  _ finally  _ turned to look at him. John smiled in triumph. “I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock.” He shook his head. “And you haven’t ruined anything, you giant berk. Not by a long shot.”

“But I- When you...” Sherlock’s face was turning a delightful shade of pink. “I don’t understand.”

John took his hand and Sherlock allowed it. “Can I ask you a few questions?” Sherlock nodded, still confused, and John gave him another smile. “Alright. How long has it been since you had sex?” 

The bluntness of the question caused Sherlock’s face to flame even brighter. “About a decade.”

John’s eyes widened. He’d expected the answer to be years but he hadn’t expected it to be that long. “Okay. Did that ever happen before?”

Sherlock tried to draw his hand away but John captured it with both of his. He huffed. “No. Well, maybe when I was in uni.”

John leaned in and kissed his blushing cheek. “Well, alright then. No worries.”

“No worries?” Sherlock brow crinkled in the way that John had always found endearing. “John, in case you haven’t noticed, neither one of us is a university student.” He looked away again. “I lost control.” He looked back at John, eyes vulnerable. “My body failed me.”

John gave in and planted a kiss on that furrowed brow. “Ta, thanks for reminding me that we’re middle-aged, love.” He pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s. “And the fact that you lost control, well, that’s the point.”

“Really?” The tension in Sherlock’s body eased and John smiled. Sherlock had a streak of insecurity about a mile wide that he covered with arrogance and a swishy coat. He would be damned if he would allow it to get in the way of this. 

“Yes. Really.” John pulled on his shoulder and they lay back on the bed. “Come here.”

“John. I don’t think- I’m all,” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “-sticky.”

“I don’t give a toss if you are. Come here.” John offered an arm and Sherlock finally laid down. He wrapped that arm around his shoulders and pulled him in tight, tucking Sherlock’s head up under his chin. “I’ve waited months for this.”

“Years.” He almost didn’t hear the words that were spoken into his chest. 

“What?”

Sherlock pressed his face into John’s neck. “I’ve waited years.”

“Since when?”

“Since I first saw you. That very first night.” 

John swallowed past the lump that had appeared out of nowhere. He cleared his throat. “Well, then. It looks like we have a lot of catching up to do.”


End file.
